I am now one step closer to the release of my novella, My Brother, Romeo.
Today, I sent my acceptance of a quote for cover design by the talented folks at Design for Writers. This is the same firm that did the gorgeous cover for my novel, State v. Claus. If you’re an indie author looking for professionals to handle your cover, I highly recommend Design for Writers. (Note: They didn’t ask me to say this, nor are they giving me any kind of deal or perks for recommending them. I’m saying it because I remember how many hours I spent researching cover designers, and I’m hoping to save somebody else a little time.)
Last night, I discovered a streaming series entitled, “The Movies that Made Us.” In its first season, the series explored the making of “Dirty Dancing,” the iconic coming-of-age story of a young woman who falls in love with a dance instructor during her family’s summer vacation at a Catskills resort.
“Dirty Dancing” was released in 1987. I had just moved to Stamford, Connecticut, when the movie came out, but I didn’t know that the studio responsible for “Dirty Dancing” was also based in Stamford or that this studio was known at the time for adult videos, not feature films. I also didn’t know the driving forces behind the movie were two women, or that at least part of the movie was based on the experiences of one of the women, or that they’d ended up with the now-defunct Stamford studio because literally every other studio had turned it down, many claiming it was “too girly.”
Several days ago, a friend and I went to a local farm to pick blueberries. In the field, it occurred to me that this would make a terrific blog post, because there were similarities between blueberry picking and the writing process. I took some photos, and I even asked my friend to take photos of me picking. As I filled my container, I looked for ways I could link writing and blueberry picking. It was going to be brilliant, the kind of post that would inspire writers for years to come.
Last night, I was completely ready to be done with this #1000wordsofsummer challenge. This evening, as I watched the news and late-night television for the first time in ages, I wasn’t even thinking of writing.
My original plan for this final day of the #1,000WordsofSummer challenge was to write another 1,000 words in my novel, but that’s not what I’m doing.
Instead, my final 1,000 words will be directed to you, the wonderful folks who have accompanied me on this journey. (This means that my post will be a bit longer than usual, but I’m trusting you to handle it.)
The sooner we learn this fact, the better. (By “we,” I mean me.)
Case in point: my workload was slow for the first half of May. Scary-slow. The kind of slow that makes you think, “Well, this is it. I had a good run, but it’s over.” Like Blockbuster, or the people who made 8-track tapes.
When I was in high school, I wrote constantly. Stories spilled out of my brain, and my pencil was barely swift enough to catch them all. Sprawled on my bed, upright at my desk, out on the swing (where the stories raced around my mind, here and gone in nearly the same instant). Summer nights while the rest of the family slumbered, the hours ticking away as I reveled in my made-up world.
Which is why, when people talk about dictating their writing, I have visions of the device I used in the mid-1980s to transcribe tapes dictated by bosses who were far too busy to write words on a page. Notably, those guys (back then, men dictated and women transcribed) were considered cutting-edge (a term not yet invented) because they used a machine for dictating instead of having a secretary sitting in front of them with a steno pad.